Somewhere Only We Know
by Docdonnalove
Summary: Doctor and Donna. It leans more towards the two being 'shipped' but it isn't hard to see things the other way if you do a tiny bit of ignoring. This is my first Doctor Who fic. Sort of a fix-it, also a little cliché (sorry for that!). The idea for the story was inspired by 'Somewhere Only We Know,' a song originally by Keane but covered well by Lily Allen.


**Somewhere Only We Know**

By Docdonnalove/jelliclesoul635

Summary: A Doctor and Donna one-shot. It leans more towards the two being 'shipped' rather than strictly partners in friendship, but it isn't hard to see things the other way if you do a tiny bit of ignoring. This is my first Doctor Who fic. Sort of a fix-it, also a little cliché (sorry for that!). Let me know what you think?

_Author's Note: The song that inspired this story is 'Somewhere Only We Know,' originally by Keane, but the idea came to me while I was on a bus listening to the version by Lily Allen. I think the sound of that version captures better what this story might have_. I encourage you to listen to both versions if you haven't heard either before, and I invite you to be the judge. Happy listening! __

_And if you're confused as to the Docdonnalove/jelliclesoul635 bit at the top there, see my profile for a quick answer/explanation. _

Disclaimer: I, as unfortunately as everyone else who writes fan fiction about shows and characters they love and adore, own nothing.

* * *

><p>Donna was by herself again, walking along a stretch of pavement she knew well. The autumn air was chilly against her face and hands, which she promptly shoved into the pockets of her long pea coat. The corners of the dark grey jacket were being tugged lightly by the insistent wind, but she paid neither the movement of the lapels nor her gently flailing strands of red hair any mind – her thoughts were elsewhere.<p>

She'd been walking for hours it felt like, in a pair of tall boots she normally didn't do so much walking in, and her feet were sore, but they turned grateful once she let them rest as she sat upon a wooden bench, the inanimate object looking as lonely as she felt. Something about it drew her near: maybe it was how much her feet were aching, or the simple fact that it seemed convenient for it to be nearby compared to all the other benches lining the way. It faced the Thames, the dismal waters taking up most of the visible landscape reflected not only Donna's mood but also the bulging, ominous clouds above. She briefly wondered if the weatherman on the telly mentioned rain or not.

She sighed, thinking about the day. Nothing important happened, nothing special, nothing worth remembering. She inwardly laughed at that bit… _nothing worth remembering,_ when so many times it's all she'd wanted to do, even now. She wanted to remember something, but she had no clue as to what.

The feeling you get when you know you've forgotten something… was it the stove? Was it the plug left in the wall? Forget to feed the cat? Maybe the laundry in the wash, or a bill on the table. Was it something you'd planned to do? Someone you'd planned to call or send a text? The alarms that go off in one's mind, that sudden yet subtle jolt of remembering that you've forgotten – it's what Donna felt all the time. For normal people the feeling is followed by remembering what the something forgotten was, but for Donna that blissful moment of clarity never came.

Her psychiatrist often tried helping her find ways of putting the thoughts out of her head once both of them realized (with great reluctance) that no techniques for retrieving memories would help her overcome the ceaseless bout of amnesia. For a time the niggling idea that she was forgetting to remember something went away, (she even at one point thought she'd never have to go to the psychiatrist again, save what was left of the lottery winnings for something better), but then it was too much again. There wasn't anything Donna could do to make the feeling subside these days. She was always remembering to remember, but perpetually forgetting _what_ exactly her mind wanted so desperately to recall.

Donna closed her eyes, listening to the water, listening to the wind, listening to the sound of the exaggerated breath she took. She removed one of her hands from her pocket and placed it on the surface of the bench beside her leg. She then thought to take both her hands and slide them beneath her thighs where it was naturally warmer. Her skin pressed against the wooden pallets of the bench and a few birds flew high above her head across the sky.

She realized how tired she was at that moment and allowed a hushed yawn to escape her lips. She was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. Her mother had given up on her, no surprise to her really. Gramps had gone to visit an old buddy a month earlier, coming home in a few days but she was stunned at how much she missed him – there was no one to root for her, no one for her to talk to, no source of joy. None of her old friends were worth her time, especially not Nerys, who Shaun abandoned Donna for. Donna blamed Nerys of course (because it was truly her fault and not her own for being the dump of a woman she was, she told herself repeatedly).

Donna was happy only when she dreamed. She could never remember what she dreamt of, but she knew the dreams made her happy. Sometimes Donna wished she could dream forever. Those dreams chased away her sadness, they chased away every shred of failure her life was, every bit of self-doubt and confusion. Where were her memories of those mystery-months? Where were the memories of her dreams? These simple things cost Donna so much, if she could only remember what they were…

Her palms were beginning to sweat from the heat, and so she placed one of her hands on her lap while the other she placed on the bare bench this time, stretching out her arm to rest on the top of the uppermost wooden slat. Her thumb absentmindedly stroked the worn grooves of the wood, and suddenly she was transported. The chill of the air was gone, the sound of the water was gone, even the feeling of the bench beneath her had vanished somehow. It was like time had frozen still and spatial reality had shifted.

Even the feeling beneath her thumb had changed, the grooves were less smooth and more pronounced, they felt deeply engraved rather than mere scratches on the surface. Too afraid to open her eyes, she gave the wood a light squeeze with the rest of her fingers. It was wood that was maybe painted, maybe thicker, maybe a bit familiar.

She counted to 3 inside her mind to prepare herself for seeing whatever it was that had appeared in front of her. Donna nearly fell backwards when she opened her eyes to a blur of sapphire blue. She was standing so close that she didn't realize the object's size compared to her own. It was a police box for Pete's sake! '_Bloody hell,' _she thought, _'which prescription did I take too much of this time?' _She was overwhelmed by an involuntary wave of gladness at seeing it. She didn't understand why she was pleased by it being here, but she was glad nonetheless. Oddly, she felt like the large box regarded her fondly, as if - if possible - it would throw its arms wide and take her in a smothering embrace.

She walked around the box, shaking her head disbelievingly at the sight of it. The bright blue color stood out sharply compared to the grayscale bleakness of her surroundings beside the Thames. The glinting handle caught her eye as she was halfway past that particular side of the box. She took a couple of cautious steps backward to stand in front of it again. Her quizzical eyes scanned up and down the apparent entrance to the blue box. '_It's just an ordinary police box, Donna. Stop being a numpty and leave it be.'_

Her brain sent the message to her legs to turn away, but even her eyes upon the handle refused to budge. '_Oi, this ain't the time for goin' on strike!' _she mentally reprimanded her own disobeying features. To her horror, her hand was beginning to reach out toward the handle. She felt like one of those moths flying helplessly toward a firelight. She couldn't stop herself.

It was then the door swung open and a curious yet perturbed face peeped out. Her previously outstretched hand was instantly back at her side. Donna found herself face to face with the man she immediately recognized from her dreams. _'Ah, now that explains it, you dumbo! You fell asleep on the bench and now you're dreamin'. Wake up quick before someone sees ya and tells mum you've become a right vagabond or better yet, in her own words, a worthless tramp.' _

Her thoughts didn't progress much further, for the gasp she noticed the man before her take in sharply alerted her that maybe she wasn't dreaming. His features were never before so distinguishable. She could see the pores of his skin, each faint freckle, the slight flaring of his nostrils and the unruliness of his lavish hair. And his eyes… oh, there was definitely something about his eyes. She could see into them, she could see so much about him just by looking into his eyes; his age, his goodness, his sadness, his surprise at seeing her which then of course sparked so much else…

There was no dream-like haze floating around her mind, this was real. Donna was no fool though, at least she didn't want to be by believing in a fantasy and then having it turn out wrong. But then again, she was so close to being at the end of her rope - what did she really have to lose?

Deep inside, part of her knew him and this box, part of her trusted him with her soul, part of her couldn't ignore the urge to latch onto him before he had the chance to disappear. She suddenly wanted to step into the box with this man, and tell him everything, as if somehow just by talking to him all her troubles could be vanquished in a flash.

Just a few moments earlier:

The Doctor didn't know why the TARDIS insisted on bringing him some place on a day like today, the two year anniversary of the day he last saw his best friend, a day that brought him so much pain, regret, and misery. Two years he had been in the vortex. He hadn't regenerated like he thought, thanks to the TARDIS. She'd syphoned all the radiation out of his body before he had time to know what she was doing, poor thing.

Lucky for him, patching up the fallen-sick, radiation-poisoned TARDIS distracted him from the sadness that waited in the corners of his mind to possess him when he wasn't so sidetracked. Travelling to different planets in search of replacement parts and other space travel odds-and-ends and timey-wimey doo-dads took up more time than he thought. But now, now there was nothing left for him but to wallow in his grief. He knew he shouldn't have spent so much time alone, but most days he could barely stand to leave the sanctuary of the TARDIS, let alone keep some doe-eyed companion occupied with the wonders of the cosmos. He wandered the halls, visiting rooms which only amplified the already raging pain in his two hearts, but he had no one around to stop him.

He yanked on the levers and whacked a few sticky buttons but the TARDIS only groaned in her insistence that he look outside. He didn't want to, but he of course didn't want to stay wherever she'd brought them, so he momentarily hung his head in defeat and gave a solitary huff. The Doctor impatiently and with some aggravation at his beloved spaceship walked up to the doors and swung one of them open. The sooner he humored her, the better...

And then his eyes found the face, the one he had missed so dearly. He gasped, how could it be her? The TARDIS knew what would happen, she couldn't do this to her, to him! Why reunite them only to have it end in what would surely be a tragedy? But then those gorgeous eyes were looking into his own, reading his soul like the pages of a book. Distracted by her gaze, his distraught fury and choking panic melted away like banana ice-cream on a summer day.

Her one eye looked wet, and it took a moment to realize there was a tear about to spill over the reddening rim. His hearts broke more than he thought they could ever break, and out of pure instinct he tenderly reached his finger out in time to catch the drop of salty liquid.

Suddenly her hand was wrapped around his wrist, clutching it for dear life, and her eyes were shut tightly. He feared he'd hurt her, but the strengthening grasp around his wrist and the wide opening of her eyes told him she only wanted to make sure he was actually there in front of her, and that she was shocked to find him a real, living, breathing being. Her touch also made him realize how much he'd missed that as well. He had missed Donna's company, he'd missed her voice – while it was soft _and_ while it was booming – he'd missed her brilliance, but he'd missed her touch so much more than he knew. There were so many moments he took it for granted, so many moments he should have returned the touches she gave, so many opportunities he wished he hadn't missed.

He took his hand away and disappeared behind the door he had abruptly closed. He gazed at the ceiling, wondering angrily, '_How could you? You know she'll die now, what was the point of this? Why would you hurt me like that?' _

The slightly impish voice of the TARDIS answered his thoughts, _'Are you getting so old now that you can't even figure out a simple thing as this?'_ The disembodied voice inside his mind took on a kind tone,_ 'Come my sweet thief, trust me and more importantly, trust yourself. It's time to be happy again.'_

He desperately had a gap in his hearts that needed filling, and it turned out the person on the other side of the doors needed something very similar. The Doctor was beginning to understand. The light bulb above his head lit up as an epiphany graced his brain. The solution was so simple, he felt like a complete idiot.

Donna was forcing herself to ignore the headache that was rapidly forming, watching this strange man as he took back his arm and closed the blue door. Maybe she'd been dreaming after all… and yet she couldn't accept that, so she just held her breath and waited. She would wait forever. Her eyes remained focused on the door, as if by sheer willpower she could open it and summon the man to appear like the figurine of a cuckoo-clock. Her breathing was becoming ragged, and there was sweat beginning to form across her forehead. Why it was becoming harder to wait was a mystery to Donna, why waiting for this man to come back for her was so important was also a puzzle she couldn't fit the pieces to, she only knew she didn't want to be left behind.

The Doctor turned to face the doors once more. He allowed himself to take a deep breath before opening the door for a second time, relieved beyond words that she hadn't gone anywhere. Without failing to notice just how much of a battle she was fighting, he reached his hand out for her to take.

Donna could barely see because of the persistent, searing pain her headache was causing her but she had enough sense left in her to quickly grab onto his hand. She felt him pull her into the bigger-on-the-inside box, and watched the glorious and slightly silly smile spread across his face. He was terribly afraid it would all fail, an end to all his hopes, but he didn't dare let his nervousness show now, not in front of Donna.

For Donna, there was nothing, nothing and everything at the same time, the image of an anxiously grinning Doctor fading behind her eyelids the moment her feet were firmly across the threshold of the blue box. A yellow glow engulfed her but it wasn't burning, not like she originally expected when she yelped despite herself. Slowly it dissipated, and when it was over she could barely stop herself from giggling. She knew what had happened, the information was already in her brain. She knew what this meant for the two of them, how dangerous it was and how scared he must have been when she took his hand, but she knew he only did it at all to give her the chance to be alive again for the first time in two years.

She ran into his arms, breathing 'Spaceman' against his chest just before sobs overtook her. She felt his arms coil around her body and hug her so tight she could have sworn he was part boa constrictor. The short bursts of warm air against the top of her head made her squeeze him all the more snug, her hands forming fists as she grabbed at his jacket. She wasn't going anywhere this time, never again would she leave. She would eventually get around to smacking him one for what he did, but there would be time for that, Not even the sound of four heartbeats could unnerve Donna at this precise moment. She was happy, she was home, and she was loved, and by the man who now held her in his arms she was finally and properly needed.

She remembered being happy at the Thames with him once a long time ago after surviving the empress of the Racnoss together, now she was practically in the same place, with the same person, only she was happy to see him here for reasons so much better.

Both the Doctor and Donna sent a mental thank you to the TARDIS, who hummed soothingly to her passengers. The Doctor and Donna smiled, swaying to the song of their stubborn, meddling, clever, ever-loving, and thoroughly delighted TARDIS.


End file.
